


strike me down (we survive everything, you and I)

by eshalinjune



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (nothing is being acted on and it's really minor), (off-screen and truly implied nothing more), Agender Character, Angst, Background Relationships, Chantry-critical, City Elves, Class Issues, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Intimacy, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Male-Female Friendship, Minor Fenris/Female Hawke/Varric Tethras, Misunderstandings, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Carver Hawke, Protective Siblings, Protectiveness, Recovery, Redemption, Rite of Tranquility, Siblings, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Templar Carver Hawke, Templars, Trauma, Unconventional Families, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, a lot of dealing with trauma, an exploration of healing if you will, and taking care of her, anti-chantry, basically an entire fic of carver caring for hawke, but there will be a ship, cause it would be unfair to people looking for fics about the ship when it's so barely mentioned, i hate it with a burning passion and everything it stands for, if you're here for a nuanced take on the chantry, in healthy and unhealthy ways, look away, so here goes, the focus is heavily on carver & hawke & bodahn & sandal & orana, this is not a love story, though it's so far from the main focus i don't feel ok putting it in the main tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25517722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eshalinjune/pseuds/eshalinjune
Summary: “You don’t know, oh dear Spirits, o-of course you don’t know.”Carver swallows roughly, suddenly feeling his palms getting clammy. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he can feel that something is horribly wrong. His heart is beating harder and faster, the blood pumping in his ears and he has the unreasonable urge to go for his sword. He feels like he’s in danger and he hates the feeling of powerlessness that rushes through his veins.“Take me to my sister,” he orders.orCarver has completed his first month of Templar training and is allowed home for a few days. He takes on step into Hawke's bedroom and freezes when he sees the sun shining on her forehead.
Relationships: Bodahn Feddic & Female Hawke, Carver Hawke & Female Hawke, Female Hawke & Orana, Female Hawke & Varric Tethras, Fenris & Female Hawke, Fenris & Female Hawke & Varric Tethras, Sandal Feddic & Female Hawke
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	strike me down (we survive everything, you and I)

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the angsty himbo carver fanfic. wipe your feet before coming in, it'll be a long ride. i'm having the time of my life writing this, so i hope you'll enjoy it as much as i do. i can't promise a schedule because it's not my main story atm (i have a main account) but i'm writing bits by bits and hopefully updates shouldn't be too long! a few things about the verse for this story:
> 
> • it's mainly canon-compliant, though i'm taking some small liberties that shouldn't bother your reading at all.  
> • DAO was a mute female warden mahariel who saved the day and married zevran who was adopted by clan sabrae and got his vallaslin before becoming a warden so mahariel wouldn't die and leave him behind. mahariel is referenced a few times in this story, hence why i'm explaining this. i'm also writing a full fic about her adventures w/ zevran, coming very soon (a few chapters are already finished)  
> • hawke is agender and uses both she and they depending on the day. she's usually unbothered by the assumption that she's a woman, except on "bad" days where they feels a need to change gender expression and ask of their friends and family to switch pronouns. it's really not the main focus of the story and will be mentioned to the minimal extent of a few changes of pronouns  
> • in case you didn't read the tags, there's a very minor romance, again not the focus of the story at all, a poly relationship between, hawke, fenris and varric. it's minor enough that you can absolutely miss it if you're not looking for it  
> • the portrait is an illustration of hawke and it's my own art so you'll be kind not to steal it
> 
> i really hope you'll like it! i'm very excited to share it with you, so please tell me what you think!
> 
> This story is dedicated to jawsandbones, my favourite Dragon Age author. Thank you for writing consistantly the best stories in the fandom, and making my life that much brighter whenever I see an email for your fics. I hope you'll enjoy this tribute to your work.

* * *

Hightown is quiet at night. He doesn’t come across any bandit group, like he used to when Aurélion and him were patrolling the streets, before he left. He smiles at the thought. He’s so glad he enrolled, that he took the chance knight-captain Cullen offered him a few weeks ago.

Tomorrow will mark the first month of Templar training and Carver is having the time of his life. He’s surrounded by people who listen to him, who think he has something to bring to the table, that his skills and opinions are valuable. In the barracks, either no one knows who his sister is, or they hate her, and suddenly, that makes him the most popular Hawke in town. That never happened to him before. He’s never been the most beloved and appreciated out of his siblings.

Either they liked sweet, kind, determined Bethany, or funny, strong, bullheaded, smart Aurélion. But there’s never been a look spared for Caver, hidden Carver, not-a-mage Carver. And now… well. Carver is happy. He can’t find anything negative about his situation. It’s such a strange feeling. He feels calmer, almost softer. He doesn’t feel like fighting anything and anyone anymore, or talking loudly about himself and his every opinion. Why would he? People listen when he talks, the other recruits consider him an equal. There’s no competition in the barracks, they’re all welcome and valued the same.

It’s freeing and Carver is… _happy_.

He crosses the plaza facing the Chantry, the shields displaying the Amell crest catching the moonlight. With a firm hold, he pushes open the door of his family’s estate, still marvelling at the fact that he lives in Hightown, that he’s a part of that nobility he watched from afar for years while they slaved away in Lowtown. Carver walks inside the Amell estate, confidence and calm settling easy in his chest.

Despite his feelings towards his family, it does feel good to come back here. The smell of incense, camphor and a soft mix of lavender and eucalyptus overwhelm him and he smiles softly, surprising himself once again with how good he feels, at peace with his mind and his sense of self for the first time of his life. He doesn’t remember the last time he was happy to smell the particular scent of his sister’s favourite oils and ointments. With a deep breath in, he closes the door behind him and walks into the entrance hall.

The first thing he notices is the soft, heartbreaking sound of someone sobbing and doing their absolute hardest to muffle it behind a hand or a fist, the breathless, chocking noises as pathetic as they are simply, desperately sad. Carver has always been a crier, since childhood. When he’s angry, hurt or sad, happy or relived, his body’s reaction is always, reliably, to cry. He’s made his peace with it, even though for the longest time, he was mortifyingly ashamed of it. Another thing to thank his newfound confidence for. So he knows what type of crying this is, and he hates it already.

Sitting on one of the benches of the entrance, is a frail-looking, young elven girl. Carver frowns, not recognizing her from any of the jobs he’s done with his sister over the years. Knowing her and her stupid, big heart, she’s probably another stray Aurélion picked up on her latest stroll or something ridiculous of the sort. Carver sighs, considering the shaking form of the poor girl, sobbing her heart out.

He doesn’t want to involve himself in this, but he’s not heartless, and he hates the idea of someone crying in their entrance while they just pretend like nothing is happening.

Surprising himself, Carver realizes that the smile he wanted to muster for the girl’s sake actually comes easily to him, and the warmth that brings to his chest is enough to fix the smile in place with genuine concern for her wellbeing.

“Hello, serah. Is everything alright?”

The girl cries out in surprise, jumping on her feet before he can finish his sentence. She’s still sobbing uncontrollably, which is only made more apparent as she tries, unsuccessfully, to remain upright and calm herself.

“Messer! I’m- I’m sorry but the H-Hawke aren’t s-seeing visitors presently.”

Carver raises an eyebrow. “It’s fortunate, then, that I’m not a visitor. I’m Carver Hawke. And you are?”

“Oh! Oh Spirits, I apo-apologize, Master. You- oh gods, oh no, Master, I’m so sorry, you need to come with me.” She’s trying to pull herself together, with poor results, but he’s impressed with her resilience.

“Do you work here?” he asks, only to give himself some time to process things, because he’s already certain of the answer.

“I do, your sister s-saved me, she offered me to work h-here. I- please, Master, you _have_ to come with me.”

He can see that she’s itching to grab him by the wrist and the more he sees her act, the more he’s suspecting that she might not be any maid. Those habits, and her way of calling him master… Oh, he can already tell he’s going to hate this.

“Where is my mother? Did she go out tonight?”

If it was possible, the girl only starts to cry harder, and for a second he’s afraid she’s going to keel over. She’s whispering something in elvhen that he can’t understand, shaking her head as the tears stream down her face.

“You don’t know, oh dear Spirits, o-of course you don’t know.”

Carver swallows roughly, suddenly feeling his palms getting clammy. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he can feel that something is horribly wrong. His heart is beating harder and faster, the blood pumping in his ears and he has the unreasonable urge to go for his sword. He feels like he’s in danger and he hates the feeling of powerlessness that rushes through his veins.

“Take me to my sister,” he orders, half-out of it, not realizing how the girl snaps to attention as soon as his voice gets harder, something he’ll hate himself for later. She nods silently, her whole body still wracked by heavy, quiet sobs.

He follows her through the main hall and up the stairs, towards her sister’s bedroom. On the floor, next to the door, Petal is curled into a ball, whining softly. The dwarven boy from the expedition, he can’t remember his name, is sitting next to him, petting him silently. Suddenly, Carver dreads walking through that door, a cold, oppressive feeling weighting down on his chest and taking his breath away.

“I’m so sorry, Master,” the girl says, muffling a shuddering cry into her closed fist, before pushing the door open for him.

Carver doesn’t have to look very far. There’s the boy’s father, sitting on a chair with a tray of food in his hands, right next to the bed. And on the covers, dressed in her night clothes, barely covering the large expanse of bandages covering her entire torso and crossing over to her shoulders like short sleeves, is his sister.

The world crumbles around him. There is a high-pitched noise ringing close to his ears, deafening, dizzying, and the sudden rush of agony wrecking havoc on his mind, his body, until the floor escapes from underneath him and his knees buckle, sending him violently to the floor.

Barely sitting up, like a puppet with its strings cut, Carver stares, in horror, at the Tranquil brand on his sister’s forehead.

It takes Carver long minutes before he manages to scrape himself off the floor. Bodahn hasn’t looked at him, maybe to offer him some privacy, more likely because he’s still talking quietly to Aurélion as they share the meal on the tray. His sister’s responses are bland and far from animated, but she’s participating in the conversation without needing to be prompted. Carver forces himself to swallow, trying to reign in his panic and disbelief, the heartbreak he can feel seizing every muscle in his body like an attack. He’s not sure he’s very successful, but as long as he manages to get up and come closer to his sister and her dead eyes, he’ll count that as a victory.

“Hello, sister,” he says quietly, sitting down on the side of her bed, the sheets bunching up around him. He feels so disoriented, something like whiplash having knocked out every bit of normalcy out of his mind. Carver can hardly remember what he was feeling just a few minutes before, as he walked towards his home, delighted to find its comfort again and settle in with habits developed all throughout his life. He was excited to see his sister, to play-fight with her, maybe test his new skills against her magic. He had missed his mother dearly, too, and now he can’t help but wonder if maybe Leandra left the house to clear her head, to escape the reality of what happened to her only surviving daughter.

That thought is enough to bring a wave of nausea crashing against Carver’s stomach, his face turning an sickly shade of green as Aurélion looks away from Bodahn to give him a blank, inexpressive stare.

“Ah, hello to you too, brother. You have returned, I see. If you so please, you can go back to your training. As you can see, I do not need any Templar supervision, now that my nature has been taken care of.”

Her words, void of any resentment or pain, of her animated smiles so common for his lively, sarcastic sister, are a punch in the guts. Carver jumps on his feet, as if he had been slapped, and has to turn away from the bed to reach the room’s wastebin where he empties his stomach. Out of his control, he can feel tears carving burning lines into his cheeks, choking him with anger and injustice, helplessness and so much, oh, _so much guilt._

Carver barely notices the small, calloused hand gently drawing soothing shapes on his lower back, the only place Bodahn can reach on Carver’s tall frame. He’s sobbing, almost out of it, as Bodahn takes his hand and brings him back to sit on the bed, before giving him a ceramic cup filled with water.

“I apologise if I’ve caused you distress, brother. It appears to me, if the last two days are not simply anecdotal evidence, that my continued survival seems to cause as much grief as relief to the household. I find that unfortunate. Though undergoing the Rite was not my choice, it was explained to me by the Templars who attended the proceeding, that it was a necessary step to ensure the safety of this family. I seemed not to understand their reasoning however, given the wounds I now find myself healing from.”

Every word his sister says is a cut, deeper and deeper, bleeding too much for him to manage. His mind, his chest, the wounds pile up as she speaks, the words blows he can’t convince himself he doesn’t deserve. There’s a buzz in his ears, a high-pitched noise cancelling out the rest of the world until all he his, all he’ll ever be, stands in the space between his body and hers, stares at the ugly burn scar on her forehead, spirals in memories of the last close-to-thirty years spent together. Family. His family _. His_ sister.

“But allow me to reiterate, brother, that your expertise is not needed at the moment and it would benefit you more to join your training again rather than stay here.”

Carver isn’t even aware of the words coming out of his mouth until he’s finished speaking them. “Aurel… Don’t you want me with you?” he whispers, voice hollowed out like a dug-up grave, fresh and still smelling like dirt and death, hollowed out like the carved trenches in the shape of a thrice-cursed sun on his precious, broken sister’s forehead.

“What I want is irrelevant,” she says, emotionless, answering quickly and efficiently as if they’re talking about anything but the fact that everything that made her _her_ was ripped away when there was no one to look out for her.

_(he knows how competent her friends are -_ could be yours, whispers a voice in his head that sounds painfully like Bethany- _he’s well aware of the small army she has walking in her footsteps, but it’s not the same. he lost a father and a sister, two mages already cut from the body of his family, now an amputated thing he doesn’t know how to balance, isn’t sure they can’t keep standing, walking through life with two limbs missing. it’s not the same, no matter their competency, because he lost too much already, and he only trusts himself to care for the last two members of his family)_

_(and look at the poor job they did protecting her, murmurs a voice in his head that sounds only like himself, like his own anger and resentment, that wrath that started burning in him when he was old enough to understand what magic was and why it meant their family would never know peace, the wrath that hasn’t stopped burning since then. look at the poor job they did, it says)_

_(look at the poor job you did)_

“What I want is irrelevant,” says his sister as he crumbles on the inside like an old building that was purposefully collapsed from the inside to limit the damage to only itself. “I am Tranquil, thus I can not want for anything. The logical choice would be to leave and go back to your training, Carver.”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ about the fucking _logical choice!_ ”

_(how surprising, mocks the voice in his head, when have you ever managed to respond to anything without anger?)_

“How did this happen?” he yells, twisting around to face Bodahn. “Where were her useless friends, how did she even get caught? On what grounds did they arrest her?”

The more he thinks about it, the less sense it makes. His sister hasn’t been _careful,_ per say, but she hasn’t flaunted her magic in the face of every Templar walking by either. It means that, as much as everyone in the Gallows was aware of her nature, she still gave them enough to pretend like they didn’t. It allowed Meredith to keep her in check while also keeping the Champion and what she represents for the people of Kirkwall, as well as the non-negligible military advantage it is to have what essentially amounts to a highly trained and competent squad with impecable teamwork that took care of countless problems, big or small, relieving the City Guard and the Order immensely. It was an advantage heavy enough that the Order turned a blind eye to her obvious bias towards mages, and that’s saying something.

So what changed? What prompted this, the balance destroyed, and the assurance that ‘Hawke’s team’ would never come to the aid of Kirkwall again, of that Carver is certain. He’s not sure if any of them has been informed yet, but he thinks he knows them enough that he can confidently say there would be as many of them in the room as his mother or Bodahn would allow.

 _His mother_.

Carver frowns, remembering the elven girl’s strange words that he ignored at the time, as well as the dissonance of having his sister in such a state and his mother nowhere to be seen. Her and Aurélion's relationship is strained, yes, but he has no doubts she would put it aside to stay by her daughter. Carver bites his tongue, hesitant between the need to know, to press the matter until he has answers (because he’s not going to get a happy ending and that’s a thought he needs to drown as fast as it appears) and the deep-seated feeling that something is wrong, that his mother should be here.

In the end, it’s looking at his sister that makes him decide. He doesn’t know if there’s anything to be done, if they can reverse it, but no matter what the outcome is, his sister deserves to have her remaining family members taking care of her every step of the way.

“Scratch that,” he tells Bodahn, who had stayed silent, watching him with furrowed brows “where is Mother? I would expect her to be by Aurélion's side.”

Bodahn’s face shifts, like a stage changing between acts, taking on a layer of infinite sadness. “I’m so sorry, messer. Mistress Hawke had just written you a letter when they took her away. She was going to send it first thing in the morning. And when she was gone, well… you must forgive me, I admit I had others things on my mind and didn’t think to send it to the barracks-”

Carver’s blood runs cold. His breath is short and uneven and- and- (oh, he knows, of course he knows, he can feel it in the air, the way it weighs on everything like a fucking boulder, but he refuses for it to be true, he _refuses_ -) “ _Speak, dwarf!_ ”

Bodahn sighs, immense sadness making him look old as time. “I’m so sorry, Carver. Your mother is dead.”

The words hit like a battering ram, breaking the siege Bodahn’s words had on his mind. Suddenly, he can’t remember how to breathe. Slowly, almost to a crawl, he turns his head and looks at his sister. Her blank face stares right back at him, accusing in its nothingness, the self-blame and guilt burning everything in its path and leaving scorching, infertile land behind. His Tranquil sister looks at him with dead eyes (dead like-), nodding once as if to say _you can trust me, he’s telling the truth_ and that’s just too much, it’s too much ( _she’s dead_ ), and the room is spinning so he sits back down, on Aurélion's bed, his breathing short and violent.

Distantly, he hears the stomp of feet on the carpeted steps of the house, the noise unmistakable in its uniqueness. The room is still spinning but he can’t look away from his sister’s green eyes, the eyes they all shared with Malcolm, the three of them trees in their father’s forest, dark green eyes like moss on the bark of their tan skin. Aurélion is looking back at him impassively when the door bursts open and shouts suddenly fill the room and the room is _still spinning-_

As he collapses, Carver thinks of his sister, and when everything turns dark, he’s already weeping.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! i'd love it if you told me what you're thinking, if you have any theories as to what happened to hawke and who just barged in! lots of love <3
> 
> title is in part from Judgement Day by Stealth, and it inspired a lot of this fic


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